


The night after the day before

by AlbieGeorge



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: M/M, and the World Cup, ficlet request, mentions of other england and nz players
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-07 15:01:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20819255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlbieGeorge/pseuds/AlbieGeorge
Summary: A ficlet request from Tumblr anon."A ficlet with our fav cricpair to celebrate Baz’s birthday? Please"I'm a day late, but hope this suits, and thanks for the request, anon.  (In hindsight, I've assumed you prefer Baz/Eoin, because let's face it, who doesn't?)





	The night after the day before

Eoin came to with a low growl in the back of his throat, which seemed to vibrate the headache of his hangover awake, the dull throbbing pain warning him against trying to open his eyes, for now.

After a few steadying breaths, he put his mind to trying to remember what had happened after he got off the pitch, squinting from the sun, clutching the trophy like it might escape if he left it alone, away into the other dressing where men equally deserving were sitting, stunned.

Slowly it came back, noisy colourful fragments of memory. Never an empty beer bottle, always the damp chill of a new one being pressed into your hand by a grinning teammate dispensing a slap on the back that could send you stumbling forwards if you weren’t paying attention.

Eoin almost didn’t want to check amongst the flood of messages on his phone to see if he’d been in touch. Instead he’d retreated to a quiet corner deep in the corridors of the Lord’s pavilion and watched that final over again. Even through tinny speakers, he wanted to hear his voice, what he thought… how he was.

The stumps flashed as Buttler fell through them, almost in slow motion, Guptill slumping to the ground behind him.

_…ecstasy for England, agony… **agony** for New Zealand…_

A pause in the commentary that felt like a lifetime. An explosion of men in sky blue, screaming, running, embracing in delight. Woakes and Neesham trying to get Guptill off the floor. Quiet hands on shoulders, on backs. Ecstasy. Agony.

_Wow._

That slight split in his voice on on that single, redundant syllable. Eoin had scrolled down the long list of unread WhatsApp messages for the one conversation he wanted.

He considered trying to go back to sleep, after cracking one eye open to check it was still there, the World Cup trophy sitting proudly among empty beer bottles and discarded clothes.

Brendon stirred in his arms.


End file.
